Attempting to Be Happy for Her Happiness
by lvPayne
Summary: In time Molly Hooper would find the right man and she'd be happy, and Sherlock would try to be happy for her. Post Reinbach/Return. Sherlolly, Molly/ DI Joe Chandler from BBC Whitechapel
1. His Equal

_**AN:**_ Greetings all! This is my first venture in this fandom. To be honest, I never thought I'd write any Sherlock fan fiction as I don't think I will ever be able to capture the essence of any of the Sherlock characters. I still don't think I ever will, but this plot jumped into my mind and I just began to write. Please forgive me if this is utter drivel, and if you have any advice on how I can improve please message me!

Anywho, this fic is a slightly A/U as it's sort of a Whitechapel crossover – but not really as most of it will take place in Sherlock's London. If you've never watched Whitechapel I recommend you check it out; it's not as rich and decedent as Sherlock, but I enjoy it.

This story is Sherlolly, Molly/DI Chandler.

Sorry about the short chapter, but I had to post it before I lost my nerve.

_(Update: This chapter has been edited by the brilliant__ Daisherz365. Thank you for being a fantastic Beta and friend.)_

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Sherlock or Whitechapel. The only thing I can be sued for is a half empty box of PG Tips and Hob Nobs.

* * *

The lab at St. Barts was quiet, as per usual, the only sound occasionally coming from the young pathologist as she typed up her latest post-mortem and the occasional groan or mumble coming from the world's only consulting detective as he looked through various specimens on his slides.

Molly Hooper didn't even notice the groaning or muttering, she'd become accustomed to it after nearly two years of Sherlock Holmes' coming and going from her flat while he was in hiding.

Over that period of time the dynamic between the pair had shifted, Molly became more assertive around him and Sherlock was kinder to her. In truth he'd began to greatly respect the woman. He'd always cared for Molly, she'd always mattered, but he'd never been able to realize it or admit it to himself until she'd been able to read his sadness – her deductions had shocked him and been a comfort to him. He'd always arrogantly assumed that no other could see through his façade save him; that he had no equal, not even Moriarty – Molly had proven him wrong that day - she, Molly Hooper was and always had been Sherlock's equal; he'd just blinded himself of that fact. That was why Sherlock had turned to her in his greatest time of need. She was the only person in whom he could trust.

Throughout his time of hiding and bringing down Moriarty's network he'd appear at her flat randomly and for varying lengths of time. Every time he'd show up Molly knew what questions to ask and not ask, no matter what state he arrived in. He knew that no matter how long he was gone, that she'd always have his favorite pack of crisp (Walker's Cheese & Onion), chocolate (Crunchie) and that his room would be as he left it, except his clothes and linens would be washed (with Arial detergent as it was her preferred product, and now his).

Sherlock leaned away from the microscope and looked at Molly from the corner of his eye.

Sherlock had originally thought that after having to put up with his peculiar way of being that she'd get over him. She had not. Her feelings had grown during those months where she was his only constant. In fact, she had come to love him.

The dark haired man fully turned to look at the woman, as she went over her hand written report on a deceased patient's chart and compared it to what she'd typed on her screen.

He also knew that she did not act on those feelings as she thought he'd never reciprocate them, which was smart, but very wrong.

The petite brunette felt the detective's stare on her, and turned to him, smiling gently.

He returned the smile in kind before turning back to his experiment.

Yes, Molly Hooper was very wrong because Sherlock Holmes, the man who didn't do emotional attachments did love her. And it wasn't the familial love he felt for John, Lestrade, or Mrs. Hudson (or Mycroft though he'd never admit that he loved his brother), no, it was a romantic love – well, as romantic as Sherlock Holmes could ever be.

The pathologist typed a few more words, before saving the file and mailing it off to the records office, "Done"

Molly hopped off her chair and stretched while she looked at her watch, "would you like a packet of crisps?"

Sherlock nodded and was about to reply when she beat him to it, "it's alright. I know which are your favorites."

When Molly walked out of the lab, Sherlock looked at the door, his lips forming a straight line.

He loathed how she affected him, and how he had to constantly fight the urge to do something about it. If he were any other regular man then he would give into the temptation and show Molly how he felt; but he couldn't. In his complex mind the only logical way to express this emotion… this feeling of love (even mentally admitting that he could feel something so human was difficult) was by not acting on it. He would never be able to offer her what she deserved. In time, she would find the right man and she'd be happy, and he'd be happy for her.

_Because that's what perfect love was, being happy for a loved one's happiness, _Sherlock groaned at his inner monologue. "I sound so – average, dull"

He groaned as realization suddenly hit him, "I am starting to sound like John!"

The self-professed high-functioning sociopath thought of his best friend who was now married to Mary Watson nee Morstan. He thought of how insufferable John became when he spoke of his married life, how he'd wax poetic about her every single breath.

Sherlock covered his face with his hands

"Molly, better find that happiness fast, or I will really jump off of this roof."

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_**AN:**_ So, that's the first chapter! What did you think? It wasn't too terrible was it? Reviews are much appreciated!


	2. So Much for Being Mousey

AN: Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, faves and views! I love the Sherlock fandom, especially you Sherlolly shippers! Thanks for the positive feedback: Guest, musicchica10, magicstrikes, Zora Arian and Day! You are all so brill!

This chapter would have been up sooner if not for a small earthquake here in LA this morning haha. Oh nature!

_(Update: This chapter has been edited by the brilliant__ Daisherz365. Thank you for being a fantastic Beta and friend.)_

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sherlock and Whitechapel, but alas I don't.

* * *

After Molly had returned with the packets of crisps and two cans of Pepsi she sat on the stool next to Sherlock's. When she'd handed him the very unhealthy snack (lunch for both actually, as they'd forgotten to eat) Molly had noticed that Sherlock had seemed more frustrated then when she'd left. She'd only been out of the lab for five minutes at most, and couldn't understand what had frustrated him in such a short window of time. Maybe one of her colleagues had entered the lab and annoyed him?

When she was about to ask him if anyone had been by while she was out he'd surprised her as his demeanor completely changed, "How's Toby?"

The random question had thrown Molly off, causing her to stumble over her words a bit, "Um, he's fine. I suppose? I mean, his hair is just starting to grow back"

Sherlock's lip upturned slightly at the annoyed look that now marred Molly's countenance.

As a house guest, Sherlock could be difficult. He kept strange hours, stored stomach churning experiments throughout Molly's flat, and didn't always remember to knock when entering a room. However, there was one ritual of Sherlock's that always managed to annoy Molly – his habit of shaving poor Toby's fur off. The first time it had happened Molly had gone mental. The grey eyed man had never seen the petite woman in such frenzy before. He'd kept his demeanor neutral and detached, but inside he had been amused as she'd shouted at him and chucked his freshly laundered linens at him. "Why on earth would you do this to poor Toby," the brunette asked as she held the nearly fur-less cat to her chest.

Sherlock scoffed, "for some reason 'poor Toby' has decided I make a comfortable cat bed. I'm tired of waking up to cat hair in my mouth and all over my clothes. This is the only viable solution."

Any argument had died on Molly's lips as she remembered that Toby hadn't been sleeping on her bed since Sherlock's arrival. She'd also noticed the excessive amount of cat hair on his clothing – apparently Molly wasn't the only Hooper smitten with the fascinating detective.

"Well, just don't do it anymore," she'd demanded. Naturally, Sherlock ignored her request every time he stayed over.

Even now that Sherlock was back at 221B she'd occasionally come home to find Sherlock lying on her couch thinking over a case, while petting a short haired Toby.

Shaking off the memory Molly turned to Sherlock, "Why do you continue to groom Toby?"

The tall man shrugged, "Your cat is far more helpful to speak to than my skull, so his hair must be kept short so that I can deduce without getting cat hair all over my clothes"

Molly rolled her eyes at the answer. Sherlock smirked, _'I also quite enjoy seeing you frustrated,'_ he thought to himself before clearing his throat, "I much prefer Toby's company to Gladstone's."

Molly smiled at the reference to John Watson's young bulldog. "You don't get on with him then," she asked with a smirk.

"He's an amicable creature, but drools far too much. Toby has much better hygiene," he sniffed causing Molly to smile

"I'll be sure to pass the compliment on to Toby."

Sherlock grumbled something that sounded like, "best not to, the news will surely go to his head," before turning to his crisps. The pathologist giggled and mumbled an agreement, before the two ate their snack in amicable silence.

As she took small nibbles of her snack she peeked over at the detective. Sometimes it was hard for her to believe that she and Sherlock could enjoy each other's company like this. For years she had wished that she could sit near the brooding detective without hyperventilating – now here she was. Outwardly calm, cool, and collected.

Then again, the man sitting to her left had changed.

The changes were subtle; those around him most were probably the only ones able to notice. He was kinder to those that mattered to him now, especially towards her.

Yes, he could still be an arrogant git when he wanted and he still was "a bit not good" when it came to social etiquette.

For instance, when he had made his public return to London he made it very public and very uncomfortable for those that had played a role in discrediting his work. The memory caused Molly to smile.

"What are you smiling about," Sherlock asked scrapping the bag of Walker's for the last remaining crumbs. Molly smiled as she grabbed a handful of crisps before handing her bag to Sherlock.

"I was just remembering the day you reappeared in London"

_(3 months previous)_

Molly Hooper sat in the crowded ball room, wearing a trench coat and a fake press badge. Her seat was located in the middle of the room, reporters from the Daily Mail and Daily Sun sitting on either side of her. The front half of the room was occupied by reporters and photographers from various types of media. At the back sat the general public. At the side of the room were three empty chairs.

Molly's eyes turned towards the front of the room where two large posters rested on easels. One poster was a headshot of a blonde woman. The second, a photograph of a book titled the Consulting Fraud. Between the posters were a table and two chairs.

Suddenly a door at the front of the room opened and in stepped the woman from the picture to waves of camera flashes. Molly Hooper ground her teeth as Anderson, Sergeant Donovan, the Chief Superintendent, an unknown man in a suit and Kitty Riley entered the room. The first three sat at the three chairs off to the side, as though they were honored guests. Kitty Riley and the suited man took their seats at the front table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for joining us today to hear Ms. Kitty Riley discuss the launch of her first book, _Consulting Fraud_. We would like to recognize the presence of Mr. Anderson, DS Donovan, and Chief Superintendent Fink today, as they greatly assisted in the investigation of the original case of Sherlock Holmes, but were great assets in providing facts for this book.

"Now if you have any questions…"

The man had no sooner finished that statement when questions began to be hurled at Ms. Riley. Molly only partially listened at the questions being asked and the answers given. Instead she looked at the woman. Sherlock had described to Molly in great deal his original meeting with the journalist. He'd described the state of her dress and upkeep, which at the time was of a low wage writer.

Kitty Riley was no longer that bottom rung journalist. After her exposé on Sherlock the woman had gained infamy and as a result was far more polished. Her hair was now professionally dyed and styled, her gel manicure looked fresh and expensive, and her wardrobe was luxurious.

Yes, Kitty Riley had started living the high life at the expense of Sherlock Holmes, but that would end now.

Molly took a quick glance at her watch before standing up and speaking in a loud voice that rang with authority, "Ms. Riley isn't it true that on the day of Jim Moriarty's trial you entered a men's restroom at the Old Bailey and attempted to seduce Sherlock Holmes in exchange for an exclusive interview? And isn't it also true that Mr. Holmes denied you on both counts and said that 'you repelled (him)'?"

The blonde's mouth dropped open and no sound came out as camera's flashed attempting to photograph her reaction, and Molly. The murmur among the journalist rose and the pathologist continued, "Furthermore on the night of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson's attempted arrest, did they not both arrive at your flat?" Kitty Riley looked at Molly with wide eyes, "how do you know this?"

The pathologist's face remained stoic, but she pressed on, "And is it not so, that while they were speaking with you Jim Moriarty entered your home with a set of keys you had given him, carrying grocery's and referred to you as darling?" At this news the whole room erupted in loud murmurs and questions being shouted at both women. Molly's chest heaved at the news cameras but she did not stop speaking, "These are all true statements, are they not? How are we supposed to trust the credibility of your reporting? Your judgment was clouded by anger towards Mr. Holmes and your intimate relationship with James Moriarty! And was Mr. Moriarty not your only source in your original piece?"

Suddenly Kitty stood up, hands slamming against the table. Her face contorted into a feral growl, "Who the HELL are you? HOW do you know all this?"

Sally Donovan and Anderson looked at Molly closely, before a look of recognition washed over Sally's face, "she's the mousey pathologist! The one who was in love with that FREAK," Sally shouted pointing at the petite brunette.

Holding her head up high Molly slid out to stand in the center aisle, "My name is Molly Hooper and I am a pathologist at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. And I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

At this Molly opened her trench coat and allowed it to fall on the ground. She was wearing a black t-shirt that said 'I believe in Sherlock' on the front and 'James Moriarty was real' on the back

"Sherlock often worked in my lab while trying to solve cases. I saw how hard he worked to help those that came to him for assistance. He picked up clues that you Mr. Anderson and you DS Donovan missed. That angered you didn't it? You couldn't stand that someone who wasn't professionally trained in your field could consistently figure out cases that you struggled with"

At this Anderson bristled, "the man was an arrogant nuisance and he planned all those crimes didn't he? He was the one behind EVERY case he 'solved'."

At this statement someone in the general public shouted "No". The person was Angelo. He stood up and spoke in a loud voice, "that is not true! Mr. Holmes helped clear me of a crime I didn't commit. He was a good man. I believe in Sherlock" at this he unzipped his jacket, revealing that he too wore a shirt like Molly's.

A woman in the back row stood up then, undoing her pashmina to display her own I believe shirt, "Mr. Holmes helped me discover that my brother was embezzling funds from our company".

Then a little boy stood up wearing the same shirt and carrying a puppy (Molly wondered how the dog had been kept quiet for so long), "He helped find Miles! And Mr. Holmes told me that I was going to be a grandfather!"

At that point nearly everyone in the general public stood up, removing their outerwear and shouted how Sherlock had helped them and their loved ones. The media were in a frenzy snapping pictures of anyone they could. The man in the suit attempted to calm everyone at no avail and threatened to call security.

All of the sudden the double doors in the back of the room slammed open and the room grew deathly quiet as a man wearing a black coat marched in, tailed by two men in suits. Molly smiled at him and stepped to the side. As he passed his pathologist, as he'd started referring to her as, he let his fingers brush her hand. The action caused a little jolt to pass between the two. The dark haired man hid the reaction by relaxing his shoulders, and Molly ducked her head to hide her blush.

Sherlock stopped his march at the center of the room, his trademark smirk in place as he first looked at the crowd and media, before he slowly turned and scanned those now standing at the front of the room. Anderson looked about ready to shout when Sherlock gave him a sharp look, "Anderson what have I told you about speaking? I've told you not to speak as it lowers the IQ of all those in the room"

The crowd of supporters gave a loud shout of agreement and erupted in applause and laughter. Suddenly Kitty let out a wail, "Noooooo! What are you doing here? You're dead! This is my press conference for my book. How DARE you ALL interrupt!" At the last sentence she glared at Molly and Sherlock in particular.

"Oh, about that," Sherlock took three decisive steps back and nodded at one of the men in suits.

The man stepped forward and pulled out an envelope, "Ms. Kitty Riley, I would like to present you with this court order and restraining order on the behalf of my client, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. My client is suing you for defamation of character and slander. I've just been on the phone with your publisher and the printing and release of your book is being held back pending the results of the court case"

A look of shock marred the journalist's features as two hotel security guards and the hotel manager approached her asking the woman to leave the primacies. "You cannot do this! This is my press conference! My publisher hired out this room for me"

"Actually," Molly said stepping up towards the front of the room, "I hired out this facility. You're simply a guest. Now, I'd like to ask you to leave, as you are causing a disturbance and to be quite honest," the petite brunette leaned forward, a smirk appearing on her lips and whispered, "you repel me"

Kitty let out another cry as she made to attack Molly. Luckily the security guard's caught her in time and the now disgraced journalist was practically dragged out of the room kicking and screaming. The crowd of supporters cheered and clapped. Molly then turned to the press, "Now ladies and gentlemen if you have any questions –"

"Just wait one moment young lady," the until now quiet Chief Superintendent roared as he stood up, "this man is a fugitive and under investigation for various crimes"

The large man marched up and stood practically toe-to-toe with Sherlock, "DS Donovan, arrest this man"

Sally made to do as she was ordered when the other suited man stepped up to the irate man, "Chief Inspector Fink, I am a representative of MI6 and would like to inform you that Mr. Holmes has been cleared of all charges brought against him in the past. Intelligence has acquired sufficient, valid evidence that Richard Brooke was in fact James Moriarty, a terrorist. Furthermore, we have had the children assessed by therapists and they have admitted that Moriarty was the one who kidnapped them. So it was James Moriarty and his criminal ring who committed all the crimes you accused Mr. Holmes of doing. And it is Mr. Holmes who acted as a consulting detective for us and helped bring down that crime ring."

The three Scotland Yard employees visibly withered at the weight of the revelation and looked at each other nervously. The MI6 agent nodded at the three and asked to speak with them in private at the corner of the room where he informed them that they were all to meet with the head of the Yard tomorrow morning. While this all had happened two more chairs were added to the front table and the posters were taken down.

"Now," Molly said as she, Sherlock, and his attorney took their seats, leaving one empty for the MI6 representative, "any questions"

_(Back to the Present)_

The pair laughed as they shared the fond memory, "the whole thing was staged rather brilliantly," Sherlock said. Molly laughed, "Always arrogant."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "hiding behind false modesty is such a waste. Besides, I also was referring to your role. So much for being mousey."

Molly laughed and was about to say something when Sherlock's phone went off, informing of an incoming text message. "Could you get that for me Molly," he asked

The petite brunette's brows furrowed, "isn't it in your inner jacket pocket," she stated. Sherlock nodded, "yes, but I am eating crisps"

Molly rolled her eyes at Sherlock's self-centeredness, but did as he asked. As her hand brushed across his chest she felt her heart flutter. The pair pretended not to notice and Molly quickly took the phone. "Read it out loud please."

Rolling her eyes she readjusted herself in her seat, slightly turning her body towards him, "it's from Greg. Says there was a murder. Apparently, the scene of the crime and the murder looks similar to the latest string of murders in Whitechapel"

At that Sherlock jumped up, grabbing the rubbish from their improvised meal. He asked Molly to text John the address and inform Lestrade that he'd be there shortly. The pathologist did as he asked, watching the man throw on his coat. When she was done with the text messages Sherlock took his phone. "Thank you Molly. You might want to prepare for the post mortem"

"Me?"

Sherlock nodded as he put on his scarf, "Of course. I only trust the work of My Pathologist"

He winked at her before exiting the room in his usual dramatic fashion. As Molly watched the doors slam behind him she smiled and blushed.

'_He might not love me_,' Molly thought as she started walking out of the lab, '_but at least I matter to him._'

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_**AN:** _Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Yeah, the big reveal was a bit dramatic, but I think they deserved it don't you. Plus, Molly is such a strong woman and I wanted the world to see that.

PS Reviews are like endorphins, they make me happy!


	3. The Connections

AN: I'm sooooo sorry this has taken forever to go up. I've got this chronic eye-strain that flared up – too much reading, computer monitor tanning and poor sleeping – so I couldn't write. Then When I did write up this chapter I got this awful computer virus and lost the chapter :(. So lame. Please forgive me?

Thanks topatemalah21, no-MY name's Anonymous, IAmSherlocked123, Zora Arian, GoldenVine, musicchica10, carrisa, and daisherz365. You all are so lovely! Your reviews have made my day, everyday since I recieved them!

Here's the chapter. The next should be up soon, most likely tomorrow!

_(Update: This chapter has been edited by the brilliant__ Daisherz365. Thank you for being a fantastic Beta and friend.)_

Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock or Whitechapel

* * *

John Watson waited for Sherlock by a police car near the crime scene.

For months, nearly two years actually, the former army doctor thought that the scenario he was currently in would be impossible. The first seven months had been torturous. His life after Sherlock's "death" was comparable to his life after his time in Afghanistan. The nightmares had returned, as did the tremor in his hand. He'd gone back to being the shell of the man that he was – sad, isolated and snappish. The few people who he cared about had stayed near – well, as near as he would allow them - despite his depressing mood. Harry had come down from Ireland and stayed for a week following the funeral. She had tried to convince her brother to move in with her, but he'd refused. Lestrade invited him out for a pint on occasion. John had at first refused to so much look at the man, but pretty soon had realized that while the formerly disgraced and demoted DI had arrested Sherlock, it had been one of the hardest things the officer had ever done. Mrs. Hudson looked after John, and had in fact taken to preparing meals for him – especially since John never ventured into the main living quarters of the flat. Mycroft stopped by once, to inform the doctor that he would pay Sherlock's half of the rent and bills. And when John ventured out, a black town car was always outside waiting for him, taking him wherever he needed to go. Molly also visited and the pair often went out for coffee near St. Barts. It was actually on one of these coffee outings, precisely eight months after Sherlock died, that John's life had changed once again. He and the pathologist had been sitting outside the coffee shop when a beautiful blonde woman suddenly stopped in front of Molly and greeted the brunette enthusiastically. Molly had returned the greeting just as excitedly, before turning to John, "John this is my old flat mate from Uni, Mary Morstan. Mary this is my good friend, Dr. John Watson." The moment that John and Mary had looked at each other John finally knew that he was going to be alright. It was love at first sight for the pair. Soon, John's life began to come back together. He found the love of his life, a new job, and went out with his friends more. Mary had even helped him venture into the living area of 221 B. Yet every night he dreamed and wished that his best friend could come back from the dead and be there too. It was impossible. But, as Sherlock always says, "Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains—however improbable—must be true"

_**3 Months Prior**_

It was a few hours until the press conference when Molly had driven Sherlock to the tuxedo shop where John was trying on tuxedoes for his wedding.

Doctor Watson had just stepped onto the platform in front of the 3-way full length mirror when a voice spoke from behind a mannequin, "Really John; a yellow bow tie and cummerbund?"

John had let out a terrified yelp and spun around so quickly that he gave himself whiplash and fell over a chair.

"Bloody hell, you alright John," Lestrade said running out of a neighboring fitting room. He helped the pale army doctor up. "What happened mate, you look like you've seen a ghost"

The doctor tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out.

Annoyed, the consulting detective spoke up, "Oh come on! You chose him to be my replacement as your best man!"

Upon hearing that voice Lestrade shouted, "Jesus," before also stumbling back in shock.

"You're dead," Greg shouted pointing at the consulting detective

Sherlock snorted, "Obviously I'm not. No wonder the number of cold cases has gone up since I disappeared. You lot are quite useless without me"

John had been standing wide-eyed, chest heaving, but upon hearing the condescending tone that no one could imitate, he suddenly lunged at Sherlock, striking the youngest Holmes' cheek with his fist, "you arrogant git!"

_**Back to Present**_

As the memory faded away, John smirked to himself before turning to look back at the street. A cab soon came to a halt before him and the world's only consulting detective stepped out, quickly paying the cabbie.

"Alright Sherlock," John said as the consulting detective walked towards him. "John," Sherlock said as he nodded in greeting. Then the pair walked toward the building that was closed off by yellow tape and surrounded by police officers.

"You were at Bart's then," the blonde man said as he ducked under the yellow tape. Sherlock nodded and asked how he knew. "Well, your text message was polite and contained a smiley. So I figured you'd asked Molly to send it"

The consulting detective smirked, "glad to see that your ability to deduce has improved greatly in my absence. I was worried that you'd become quite useless without me"

John simply muttered 'arrogant git' under his breath, loud enough for the dark haired man to hear. The arrogant git stayed silent, but smirked at the insult.

As they were walking a uniformed officer came to stand before them.

"Donovan," Sherlock said nodding to the officer.

The female officer kept quiet but nodded.

Following their disciplinary meeting with the head of Scotland Yard and a misconduct investigation by the DPS, Donovan, Anderson, and Chief Superintendent Fink's conduct had amounted to gross misconduct and each faced disciplinary action. Anderson was no longer head of his forensics team. The Chief Superintendent had been advised that a slightly early retirement might be in his best interest, and so he took that option. Donovan had been put back into uniform.

While most officers understood Anderson and Donovan's ill-feelings towards Sherlock - what with his being an arrogant smart arse who insulted everyone – they did not condone the pair undermining their DI. Many of them also felt as though the trio had sold out the police service for a bit of media coverage.

"The fre- erm – Sherlock Holmes is here," the dark haired woman said into her radio, unable to hide the animosity she felt towards the aforementioned man.

A sudden crackling sound came through the radio, "Right, send him and Dr. Watson to the body," said a familiar voice. The officer nodded towards the alley between two blocks of flats before turning away without another word or glance.

"She's always so helpful and polite," John grumbled – clearly still annoyed with the sergeant. Sherlock said nothing, though he could not hold back a smirk.

The pair soon made their way over to the alley entrance, where Greg Lestrade met them.

While the other three were disciplined for their actions following the press conference, Lestrade had been offered to be promoted to Detective Chief Inspector. However, the man was not ready to work behind a desk and opted to be promoted back to his original post with an apology and large pay upgrade. In a few years time he would accept the position as DCI, but now that Sherlock was back he'd enjoy working the crime scenes.

"Sherlock, John, thanks for coming," the man ran a hand through his hair, "and sorry about," he nodded in the direction of Sally Donovan.

"It's quite alright," Sherlock said, "police services must be quite busy this evening, what with the bomb scare in the underground"

Greg and John both looked at the man in surprise, "How did you know that?"

"John, did you not overhear it over Sergeant Donovan's radio? Anyway, it's most likely just a bag a football hooligan left in the station."

John turned to look at his friend in confusion, "How could you know all that?" Greg nodded.

The curly haired man groaned, "I can't believe that just a few minutes ago I was praising the improvement of your skills of deduction – CLEARLY that was a one off," both the doctor and the detective rolled their eyes, "While you were waiting for me, did you not notice a young man limping by you out of breath wearing a Chelsea football hoodie. The front was caked in the young man's blood. He looked frustrated and kept moaning about a lost book bag"

John looked sheepish as he realized that he'd been so lost in his musings that he had not noticed that. He looked to be about to ask another question when Sherlock interrupted him, "You're probably wondering what a Chelsea fan who was clearly injured was doing around here. Well, today Chelsea was playing Tottenham at White Hart Lane. It's obvious that the young man participated in the post match fight between the clubs' firms and needed medical attention. St. Bart's is the closest hospital to the stadium, ergo he was headed there. Why did he get off at this particular station and leave his backpack? Well, our football hooligan probably saw that members of the rival firm were on the tube and spotted him, therefore he jumped off. As for why he left his backpack, I am not certain"

"Wow," Greg breathed as he and John let the scenario sink in, "Wait, did you just admit to not knowing something?"

The taller man cleared his throat and turned toward the body, "Now let us forget the inconsequential case of yobbery and focus on the matter at hand, the body Lestrade?"

Greg smirked but nodded towards the victims body that lay amid shards of glass, "mind your steps boys there's a lot of glass here"

The body was of a man in his early 30's, he was wearing jeans and a wrinkled button up. He laid face up, with a bruised eye, mouth slightly open. Blood had spilt over the side of his mouth and down his chin. His blue eyes gazed upwards towards the building; they were glassy and bloodshot. The man's head was cracked and blood was pooled around it.

Sherlock and John looked from the body, to the surrounding glass. Sherlock crouched down and inspected the glass, before looking up at the building.

"I'm assuming you asked me to come, because the crime scene looks similar to the Whitechapel murders, because the victim was thrown through a window. Any other connections?"

"No, no other connections at the moment. We won't know until we run some blood tests to see if the victim was also drugged, like the others. The victim is a Mr. Hugh Nichols. No known association with the other killings, though those don't look to be connected to each other. Other then that the victim was 33 years old and worked here in London as a graphic designer. He's got priors for drink-driving, public intoxication and 2 counts GBH following fights at pubs"

Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass, and leaned closer to the body to peer at his face and hands, occasionally sniffing. "John, come check this and tell me what you notice. The doctor did as he was asked and followed Sherlock's example, "Well the time of death was about an hour ago. The cause was the head injury. He was pushed roughly from the front through the window. And he smells of cigarette, tomato and," John leaned towards the man's mouth and sniffed, "Fosters"

"This man," Sherlock said as he stood up and turned to Lestrade, "is not a victim of the Whitechapel killer"

"How do you," Greg began to say, before Sherlock interrupted him

"I'll explain it to you after you've shown me to the crime scene," Greg nodded in resignation before asking Sherlock and John to follow him. The trio made their way to the buildings entrance, they stopped by the elevator where Greg and John suited up. As they did that, Sherlock subtly peered at the ashtray by the stairs.

"Sherlock," Greg said as the elevator arrived, "lift's here"

The consulting detective shook his head, "you take the elevator, and I will meet you up there. I need to send a text and the stairwell has much better reception than the elevator"

The pair offered to go with him, but Sherlock shook his head saying he needed to text Molly and one other person.

At this John smirked, and Greg looked confused, but the pair went into the elevator.

As the doors shut before them Greg turned to look at John, "what do you reckon Sherlock's texting Molly? I noticed that she was the one who sent the text from Sherlock's phone earlier"

John chuckled, "you noticed that too"

"The smiley gave it away," Greg smiled, "is there something going on between the two of them? I noticed that they spend more time together than they did before the fall"

John laughed, "Sherlock in a romantic relationship? "

The salt and pepper haired detective joined in the laughter "You're right, this is Mr. Emotionally Incompetent"

"You know after he met Mary and congratulated me on my choice of bride in his clinical Sherlock way, I quipped that I'd be aiming the garter right at him. Well, I remember he turned slightly pink before scoffing. He reminded me that he'd once mentioned that he was married to his work, before telling me, 'Love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment (1)'."

"Right, we'll sooner see Sherlock at Ascot as the Queen's personal guest than see him admit to falling in love," Greg said.

The pair laughed at the mental image.

As their laughter at the ridiculous notion died down a bit, the elevator stopped at the 10th floor. The two men stepped out of the elevator and made their way towards the open door at the end of the hall, some forensic team members and officers stood around it.

"You have everything photographed," the head of the forensic team nodded, "Great. Give us a couple of minute's lads. Sherlock needs to look about the room; he'll be up in a tick"

The group silently moved away from the door, not wanting to row with the detective the way their colleagues had in the past.

The flat was a typical bachelor pad. The main feature of the room was a large television which was turned on, but someone, probably forensics or an officer had muted it. A couple of pizza boxes sat on the coffee table. Cans of lager were scattered on the table and on the ground. An ashtray was on the ground, which by the looks of it had been knocked from the arm of the couch. To the right of the couch stood the broken full length window

As John was gazing at the room Sherlock walked in briskly, "So, have you figured it out yet?"

John and Greg turned to look at him with blank stares.

"Right, I had forgotten how your silly little minds work," Sherlock ignored the glares thrown at him and carefully walked about the room, "The only thing the recent Whitechapel murders have in common with this murder is the fact that people have been pushed through windows. Everything about this murder is different

"Look at this room," Sherlock said pointing around the unkempt dwelling, "it shows signs of a fight and evidence was left behind by the murderer. Those beer cans, that partial finger print on the window ledge and these," Sherlock held up a crumpled receipt and a cigarette butt in his gloved hand

Greg walked over and snatched the items before putting them in evidence bags, "where'd you get these?"

"From the ashtray by the stairs; I am quite familiar with this brand of French cigarettes, and recognized that it matched the cigarette by the victim's body. Upon seeing that, I inspected the ashtray and found the receipt on the ground next to it. It is as you can see, from the same pizzeria our Mr. Nichol's was eating. I contacted the pizzeria after finding the receipt and found that the pizza was ordered today by a Mr. Peter Johnston and was delivered to this flat two hours ago. It was also the only delivery made near this area"

John turned to Sherlock, "So Peter Johnston is the killer?" Sherlock nodded in the affirmative. He then handed a scrap of paper with the Johnston's description to the DI. At this Greg quickly walked to the doorway and relayed the information to the officers and handed the evidence bag to forensics. He asked his new DS, a young man by the name of Ripner to gather information on the suspect. After DS Ripner had left Greg returned to Sherlock, "ok, so you've explained all the things you figured out, but how do you know that Johnston isn't the same bloke pushing people through windows in Whitechapel?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I said look around the room. This murder scene is littered with evidence. The Whitechapel murder scenes were clean – the only evidence of foul play where the broken windows and the sedatives found in the victims blood streams. The Whitechapel victims did not have any food in their stomachs and all the victims were pushed out of their hotel or bedroom windows"

"But Nichols and Johnston were eating pizza and drinking beer in the living room. This was a social visit," John said

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction, "Precisely. Now think gentlemen; what sort of social gatherings do most British men have around this time on Sunday, where pizza and beer are consumed in vast quantities?"

John and Greg both looked at each other then turned to Sherlock, "the footy"

Sherlock nodded and reminded them of his deductions regarding the young man in the Chelsea fan earlier. He then pointed at the television screen and unmuted it, the volume was exceedingly loud and the channel number flashed on the corner of the screen.

"The Tottenham v Chelsea match was aired on this channel," Sherlock shouted. Greg grabbed the remote and turned the television off. "So you're saying they argued while watching the football match. But why?"

Sherlock gave Lestrade a look, "I can't give you a precise answer for that, as it would require guessing and I do not guess. All we know is Mr. Nichol's priors – he's been arrested for various drinks related altercations. That combined with the number of beer cans littering this room; it would be fair to deduce that this fight was fueled by alcohol."

Ripner then came into the room, "Boss, I ran search on Johnston on the database and found that Johnston served some time for illegal gambling and burglary"

At this Sherlock's face morphed into what John had dubbed, the face, and he began to head out of the room.

"Oy, where are you running off too?"

"Come along John," Sherlock turned to the two remaining detectives, "I'll text you when I've found Johnston"

* * *

AN: So the original chapter wasn't this long. The crime scene initially was not as detailed, but once I started typing it up my love of detective shows took over. Also, sorry there isn't any Sherlolly interaction going on here, but this chapter was meant to sum up/ explain what had happened in John and Lestrade's life after the fall.

(1) This is actually a direct quote from The Sign of the Four, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the same book where Watson meets, falls in love with and becomes engaged to Mary. When I read this, I knew it had to be added to this fic. It's actually one of the quotes that helped inspire my writing this story. Sir ACD, so inspirational.

BTW, I totally alluded to a future scene in this fic. Give it a guess, and if you're right I'll message you a bit of the next chapter as a reward :)!

Chapter 4 should be up tomorrow hopefully. I can confirm that we'll be meeting DI Chandler in Ch 5.

Oh, and I started a new tumblr. SherlockIsMyCuppa. I plan on posting different photos and links (such as outfits or locations) for things that inspire me while writing. Please follow me on there, and I'll follow back. I'm tumblr illiterate, but hope to learn more soon!


	4. A Man of Habit

AN: So, I completely forgot to cite the following quote in ch 3:

"Love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment"

It's actually a direct quote from The Sign of the Four, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sorry about that; I'll go back and properly cite that in ch3!

Shout outs: Thanks to everyone who has added this fic to their favorites and/or alerts. I so do love receiving those messages. Also a huge thank you to the following reviewers:

IridescentlyAmy, daisherz365, Ssmill, GuEsT, magicstrikes, TheGoldenHairedMockingjay, SpencerReidFan89, Zora Arian. You all are so awesome!

Oh and congrats to Zora Arian, daisherz365, and IridescentlyAmy for taking a stab at my challenge!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock (the show or Sir ACD's character and writing) or Whitechapel.

* * *

John sat in the cab holding an eye pack to his eye, "You could have told me to duck"

The consulting detective snorted as he stared out the window, "I thought you would have followed my lead when I ducked"

"I was too busy being shocked by the police arrival, to notice a cheesed off bloke taking a swing at you"

"Yes, it seems Johnston has a great right hook," Sherlock smiled, "Anyway, at least now we know why Johnston and Nichols fought"

The blonde man nodded, "To think that Johnston had stolen Nichols' deceased wife's engagement ring to place a bet on a football match. No wonder Nichols was pissed. Good thing you figured out which bookie he used"

"Johnston is a classic gambling addict," the detective shrugged, "Parker is a smart man. As soon as he heard that I was looking for Johnston he contacted me; gambling is one thing, but aiding a murder is quite another"

Watson nodded and stayed quiet for a few minutes before asking Sherlock why they were going to St. Barts. "Mary should be done with work soon."

"How do you know Mary's working late?"

To answer the question Sherlock handed John his mobile.

_Oh, and please let John know Mary says she'll be working until about seven today. She has to meet with one of her client's who is having surgery tomorrow._

_- Molly x_

The doctor nodded and thanked Sherlock. As one of the hospital's child psychologist, it was not uncommon for his wife to be called in to meet with a client on the eve of a big event.

John watched as his friend pocketed the phone and suddenly remembered his conversation with Greg from earlier, "By the way, what did you need to text Molly about?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I messaged her the name of the paralytic to search for in Nichols blood"

Nodding John looked out the window. Of course, it was just about the case. Just as he was about to wave his thoughts away, Sherlock spoke up.

"I also messaged her suggesting we order Chinese take-away instead of pizza tonight"

With wide eyes John turned to look at Sherlock, "wait, are you and Molly going on a date?"

At the look on Sherlock's face he back tracked, "because you know if you are I think that that's great. I just never pictured you going on a date with… anyone really. But this is good. You. And Molly"

The cab came to a stop and the temperamental detective paid the cabbie after he stepped out of the vehicle followed by John. As the two made their way to the hospital Sherlock looked straight ahead, "I am not dating anyone," the taller man spat the word out as if saying it brought a horrid taste to his mouth, "I've told you my thoughts on the subject - romantic emotions oppose my very nature"

At this he looked at John to see if the man understood him. John nodded that he understood, but asked about his former flatmate's comments on dining.

"You may have noticed that I am a man of habit. I like routine in my daily life when not on a case," his best mate rolled his eyes at the understatement. Ignoring the gesture Sherlock proceeded to explain that it had become a tradition of sorts between the pair, during Sherlock's time in hiding to have a take-away and watch telly on Sunday evenings. "When I first started staying at Molly's flat, she noticed that the shows I watched on television helped distract me from my worry about the danger you all were in. She also realized that I enjoyed degrading the crap tv or movies she watched. So when I was away, she always made sure to record these shows for me, and whenever I returned we'd watch them or some film together on her Sunday evenings off, while eating take-away. It allowed my mind and body a temporary repose from bringing down Moriarty's network"

"So, why continue it now that you are no longer in hiding and the problem's been dealt with?"

They'd reached the entrance of St. Bart's and Sherlock paused at the door, "as I stated earlier, I am a creature of routine"

With that Sherlock strode into the hospital, not noticing that his friend remained outside pondering over the conversation.

"Well," John mused out loud, "whatever his reason, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson is glad that he's not shooting at her wall on Sundays now"

**_An hour later_**

By the time Molly had finished up Hugh Nichol's post-mortem John and Mary had left the hospital together and gone to dinner. Mary had asked Sherlock to join them, though he declined.

Instead, the consulting detective had gone down to the morgue to oversee the last of the procedure Molly was performing. He stood by the room's windows and watched as the petite brunette finished up the stitches. Sherlock's eyes followed the precise movements of her gloved hands, before looking at Molly's face. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, cheeks slightly flushed after hours of standing and working hard. And, if she weren't wearing her surgical mask, Sherlock was sure that her lips would be pursed or she'd be gently nibbling on her lip as she was prone to do while focusing on a task.

Just as she finished Lestrade and Ripner arrived.

"What have you got for us Mols," Greg said

The pathologist quickly went through the body's various markings and injuries. She pointed out what Hugh had eaten and the approximation of when it had been eaten.

"What about chemical agents? Did you find anything in his blood stream to suggest he been exposed to a paralytic or sedative?"

Shaking her head, Molly handed the Scotland Yard detective a her report, "The only thing in his system was a high alcohol content, nothing else"

At hearing this Sherlock grinned in triumph and turned to Lestrade.

"Shut up Sherlock," Greg said before the man could get a word in edge wise, which caused DS Ripner and Dr. Hooper to smirk

The consulting detective was about to retort when Greg's phone rang. Quickly, the detective pulled out his mobile and looked at the screen, a look of surprise came across his features. "Um, I need to take this call. Molly, could I get two copies of your report please? I'll meet you all in the lab in a tick"

**_H&H_**

When Lestrade arrived he found the trio in different parts of the lab. Ripner stood nearest to the door, reading over Molly's written report, while Sherlock was at his preferred microscope. The pathologist was gathering her things, as her shift had ended over and hour ago.

Upon hearing the door Ripner looked up, "Alright Boss"

Greg nodded, "yeah, I just need to speak with Dr. Hooper, and then we can head back to the station"

The amiable DS nodded, "No problem, I'll go start the car"

"Ta much Justin," the DI said before the young man bid farewell to the two other occupants of the room. Molly returned the greeting in kind, and Sherlock simply nodded.

'Hmm,' thought the DI, '_Sherlock acknowledged Ripner – guess he thinks he's a good DS_'

Greg shook his head to focus on the reason he had stayed behind,

"Molly," the detective inspector said as he turned to face the pathologist, "I need to ask you something"

"Hmm," grumbled Sherlock, "Molly, if he asks you out to dinner make sure it's not to the Indian restaurant he's started to frequent"

Both parties immediately turned to look at the youngest Holmes. One turning red with embarrassment; the other with a frustrated scowl.

"That wasn't the question I was going to ask, you pillock! My wife and I are giving it another go," Lestrade said through clenched teeth, "Besides, what's wrong with my usual place?"

"You mean you haven't figured it out," Sherlock chuckled to himself in amusement as he adjusted the microscope lens, "they don't refrigerate their meat properly. The homeless network won't go near that establishment"

Molly blanched as Greg glared at his difficult friend. "You didn't think to tell me this sooner?"

The consulting detective leaned away from the microscope and turned to the aggravated man. He schooled his features into a look of innocence, "I thought you would figure it out, especially after the stomach problems you experienced the last few times you've eaten there. Hmm, perhaps I've given you far too much credit"

With that said he turned to his phone and typed a note to himself on the slide he had been observing.

Lestrade moved his lips, but no words came out. After a few seconds he groaned and turned back to Molly, "As I was saying before I was interrupted by this git, I need to ask you a favor. Someone would like to come in tomorrow and take a look at a body. Would it be alright if he comes in with his station's own pathologist towards the end of your shift tomorrow?"

As Molly said, "sure," Sherlock asked, "why?"

Turning so that his body faced both the consulting detective and the petite pathologist, Greg grumbled, "I was speaking with Molly"

The dark haired man stood and walked nearer to the two, "It's obvious that this is about the Nichols' case, which has already been solved. So, there is no reason to waste Dr. Hooper's time."

Greg scratched his hair in frustration before turning and walking towards the lab's doors. "Listen Sherlock," he said as he stopped to grab his case files, "I know that you've solved the ruddy case already, but I'm doing this as a favor to DI Chandler."

"DI Chandler? DI Chandler; why does that name sound vaguely familiar," Sherlock asked himself as he pursed his lips in concentration.

"Oh, is that the same detective in charge of the Ripper copy-cat investigation?" Molly asked as the name came to her. A look of recognition flashed on Sherlock's face. He looked at Molly from the corner of his eye, pleased at her ability to recall both the DI's name and the investigation.

"Mhm," Greg said, "one and the same. Joe's a mate. His dad was actually my mentor when I was coming up in the CID"

A faint image popped into Sherlock's mind and he then pulled his mobile out again and typed something onto the phone's web-browser. When the search results appeared on his screen he nodded, "Right, Molly and I will definitely be hear to meet this DI Joe Chandler tomorrow"

Greg looked at the man in surprise before marching towards the man who seemed to cherish aggravating him, "Now wait a minute, who said you could come along"

"Obviously, I was involved in the investigation; undoubtedly it will be my responsibility to walk him through the murder and why it has no relation to his current investigation."

The Detective Inspector looked to physically bristle in indignation, "Oy, now you listen here Sherlock," he said pointing the file in his hand at the consulting detective, "I know you feel the metropolitan police are all a bit thick, and I admit some are. But tomorrow don't you dare disrespect DI Chandler. He's a good detective and I won't have you putting him down about the Ripper case. Got it?"

The consulting detective nodded at the DI and looked at him in serious sincerity, "You have my word, I wasn't planning on it"

Greg looked at Sherlock, a bit surprised at the honesty in his tone, "Good. Thank you Sherlock"

He then turned to Molly, "And thank you Molly. I'll see you both tomorrow"

At that he looked at Sherlock one last time, still a bit blown away by the earnest answer, and left the room.

There was a slight pause before Sherlock turned to look at Molly. She smiled at him and began to gather her things as Sherlock began to put on his coat

"So, Molly Hooper ready to hear me disparage your next film choice?"

**_- Molly's Flat-_**

Every time he sat in Molly's living room, Sherlock was always surprised by how comfortable he felt. Before he had ever stepped foot into the flat, he'd assumed the room would be chintzy, filled overly stuffed hand-me down furniture and the walls would be wallpapered with tacky photos of kittens playing with yarn.

Luckily he had been quite wrong.

Well, except there was one photo of a kitten playing with yarn, but it was of Toby – which was acceptable.

Instead of tatty furniture he'd imagined, the flat was furnished in comfortable and moderately priced furnishings. The décor was feminine, but not overly so and everything was neat.

Overall, the flat's ambiance was comfortable, warm and inviting – much like its owner.

As Sherlock thought these things Toby walked out of the kitchen. The cat happily licked his whiskers, clearly having enjoyed his dinner, before jumping atop Sherlock.

The detective petted the amiable creature, "Ah Toby, it looks like we'll have to give you another trim"

"You will do no such thing," Molly huffed as she walked into the sitting room freshly showered and in her loungewear. She looked at the food Sherlock had laid out and the paused film credits on the screen, "I'll just go get the drinks then."

Sherlock watched Molly as she walked into her kitchen. She always wore the same generic outfit to bed or around her home on her days off, a t-shirt and lounge pants. One would think that was all she owned, but Sherlock knew better.

When he'd moved into Molly's home he'd inspected every nook and cranny of the flat. The mundane and intrusive task served him in two ways. First, it had allowed him to pass the time when he was terribly bored. Second, it had given him the opportunity to get to know his temporary flat mate/ host better. Nothing could reveal an individual's person better than going through their closet.

He'd found some key items around the flat:

1) Items belonging to her deceased parents' chip shop - fond memories of a happy childhood and adolescence spent helping her father run the establishment.

2) A stuffed animal gifted to her from her nan - the youngest grandchild, babied by her grandparents, whom she grew up with after her parents passing.

3) All her university and medical school papers - pride in her educational achievements.

4) Lightly used yoga equipment – probably only used this equipment for a few weeks after setting a New Years Resolution, pre-swim season, and anytime Sherlock commented on her weight.

5) The final item was an unused gift card to an adult store from a friend with an attached note that read: _Buy something that reminds you of you know who and enjoy ;)_. The last one allowed Sherlock to realize that the young pathologist's friends thought her sexually repressed.

The consulting detective would have totally agreed with them if he hadn't seen the contents of her underwear drawer. Beneath the cotton knickers, socks and plain t-shirt bras he found items that were soft, delicate, and expensive.

The hosiery, undergarments and nightwear were items meant to be worn for the purpose of being admired. This meant that Molly was interested in someone seeing her wear them (_'and remove them'_ – the thought had caused a strange stirring within Sherlock – which he quickly attempted to repress). Yet all the items still had their price tags intact.

"Here we are," Molly said, distracting the dark haired man's thoughts. She had returned to the room with an uncorked bottle of the chilled Chinese wine Sherlock purchased and two wine glasses. Sherlock looked up at the woman, and found himself wishing he could see her in the satin and lace romper he'd found in her drawer.

'_Get a hold of your self man'_, he thought to himself before taking the proffered glass of wine and thanking her.

Molly took a delicate sip of the wine, and groaned in satisfaction which made Sherlock a bit warm under the collar, "this wine is delicious Sherlock! Thank you so much" she said as she smiled and patted his arm.

Sherlock quickly turned on the television and grabbed Molly's laptop to distract himself from Molly's unintentionally erotic groan and her innocent touch, "What's this film called? I do hope it is better then the last one"

"You didn't enjoy _V for Vendetta_?"

"No, that one detective looked too much like Lestrade. It put me off the film"

Molly smiled as she chewed on her food.

"oooh, ominous music. Should be a real corker" Sherlock mocked as _Inception_ began. Molly figured that her companion would spend the entire film knocking it, but she hoped that deep down he'd enjoy it and the plot would become another mystery for him to solve. As the film progressed and she finished up her dinner, she'd curled up on her side and fell asleep, the sound of the man's voice lulling her to a comfortable sleep.

As she drifted off she scooted her body closer to Sherlock's. The man carefully ran his hand through her hair, enjoying how silky the strands were, while he divided his attention between the film and his internet search of DI Chandler.

Suddenly, there was a sound of something hitting the window. The consulting detective smirked to himself as he walked over and saw a note wrapped around a rock in the window's flower box.

He quickly opened the window and retrieved the note which read:

Former protégé of his godfather Commander Edward Anderson.

Respectful, well-educated and posh.

Three failed relationship attempts with women this year.

His detectives respect him now, as does he them.

Socially awkward, especially around women.

Likes sushi for lunch.

Severely, OCD about cleanliness and counting.

Seems a bit broody, especially after now that his DS had a baby.

Gives good alms.

Putting the note in his pocket, the man nodded to himself before returning to his seat.

Earlier in the evening, while Molly was placing the order for the food Sherlock had stayed out for a bit, claiming that he was texting John, when in fact he'd been making inquiries to the homeless network regarding Chandler.

'_Joe Chandler_,' Sherlock thought to himself as he continued to run his fingers through Molly's hair, '_you would make a good companion for Molly Hooper_'

With that final thought he came up with a plan to ensure Molly and Joe's first meeting was a good one.

* * *

AN: So, Sherlock thinks the key to getting over Molly is her meeting and developing a relationship with Chandler. Hmmm, I wonder if that plan will work out? Or will it backfire? And what's he got up his sleeve for the pairs first meeting?

Also, if you go check out my tumblr account (sherlockismycuppa), which should be linked through my profile, you will see the romper Mr. Holmes is thinking of, plus a few more accessories. What do you think? Should I post the wardrobe ideas, or would you rather imagine them? Let me know in your reviews :).

I do hope you enjoyed reading that, as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	5. Matchmaker, Make Me a Match

AN: So sorry it's taken ages to update this. The end of 2012 kind of totally sucked. I'll explain at the other author's note. I promise to not make you all wait so long for future updates!

This chapter is dedicated to all those who added this fic to their favorites, followed, and reviewed this story. Thank you to no-MY name's Anonymous, shepweir always, friend2friend1, agentcooperanddiane, GuEsT, Zora Arian, magicstrikes, IridescentlyAmy, and daisherz365

Also, a huge thanks to daisherz365 who looked over this fic and is my twitter buddy. Thanks for the supportive tweets mate.

Oh and if you see (1,2,3 etc) while reading, it is something that will be addressed at the bottom AN.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, trust.

* * *

Detective Inspector Joe Chandler sat at his desk, and exhaled in relief.

Every item had been place on his desk in the proper order and all were perfectly aligned.

'_My work day may now commence'_.

His shoulders slumped as this thought hit him.

He hated how much control these rituals had over him. He had to perform the ritual of setting up his desk every time he sat at it. He had to change into brand new shirts, constantly. He'd count those bloody beads and color-coordinate them whenever he felt agitated.

Obsessive compulsive disorder could be so crippling.

If a person were to look at the Detective Inspector they would never suspect he suffered from an anxiety disorder.

Most women (and some men) would call Joe "dishy". His face was handsome, and his bright blue eyes were very affecting. The six foot two blonde had an athletic build - developed from participation in his school's boxing, cricket and rugby programs - which he covered in bespoke three-piece suits from Savile Row.

Confidence should have been signature to his state of being. But it wasn't..

'Maybe this is why I am alone,' The DI asked himself, 'And if I ever do meet someone, maybe they won't be able to put up with it? What woman in her right mind would tolerate having to wait for her mad boyfriend to turn the lights on and off 150 times before going out to dinner?

He was interrupted from his mental reproaches by a knock on his office door.

"Alright boss," DS Ray Miles said as he stood by the open door, holding a white envelope in one hand. Joe invited the older man to have a seat. As Ray sat opposite the young DI, whom he often thought of as a younger sibling, he was glad to note that Joe looked well rested, "went home and had a good nights rest then?"

The blonde man nodded, "Yes. Exhaustion finally hit me yesterday and I forced myself to go get some rest"

Miles nodded.

When the Whitechapel detectives had first heard that a fast track DI had been appointed to work with them, they'd all imagined that he'd be an incompetent arse.

Then he'd arrived at the scene of the first Ripper copycat murder, stepping out of a brand new Range Rover, dressed to the nines. So they imagined he'd be a self-important, incompetent arse.

They'd all been so wrong, Miles especially. Over the course of the case, all the detectives had seen Chandler pour himself completely into solving the case, forgoing sleep and sustenance in favor of retracing the classic Ripper's steps.

During that case and after the career fall out from not catching the Ripper because Joe chose to help save DS Ray Miles life, his team had learnt to respect Joe.

But Ray did always worry about Joe's well-being, especially regarding Joe's non-existent love life.

"Sometimes you've got to put your needs before the needs of the case. You can't let cases take over your life," Miles drawled

His superior officer rolled his eyes. In return the man handed him an envelope. The blonde took it, "what's this"

"That's to force you into doing something other than work on this case next Saturday"

The envelope contained a pearl colored invitation to a baby christening - to Ray's daughter's christening and reception (1).

"Make sure you bring a date," he said rising from his seat. Joe looked up, grateful to have been invited to a special family event, "thank you"

The East London native nodded, before he made to leave the room.

Suddenly Joe remembered something, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. I investigated that lead you told me about last night

"Turns out the case was handled by a good family friend, DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard"

Miles stated that he met the man at a couple of police functions, "Some of his cases are associated with Sherlock Holmes, right"

The younger detective nodded, "Yes, in fact Mr. Holmes worked the case last night"

Miles nodded. Having outsiders involved in cases rubbed him the wrong way, for the most part, but Sherlock Holmes got the job done. Miles couldn't deny the man that, even though rumor had it the consulting detective was an arrogant git.

Chandler continued, "I didn't inform them about the markings our killer leaves on his victims' bodies," Ray nodded his approval, "I've set up an appointment to see the body and meet with the pathologist who performed the post mortem and asked Dr. Llewellyn to come along. Would you care to join us?"

Whitechapel's "skipper" nodded, "absolutely," He had walked out the door, only to pop his head into the room a couple of minutes later.

"What's the pathologist's name? The one we're going to see tonight?"

Sorting through his file Chandler soon pulled out a note he'd written last night, "Dr. Molly Hooper," he gave his DS a curious look, "why? Do you know her?"

Miles shook his head, though a smile appeared on his lips. He'd hoped that she'd be the pathologist they'd meet.

"Never met her, but I have heard of her and seen a photo of her. Holmes works almost exclusively with Dr. Hooper. People call her Sherlock's Pathologist"

Joe's brows furrowed, surprised at Miles' knowledge of these insignificant facts. The sergeant caught the look

"Judy was fascinated with the whole Sherlock saga – over the moon about the guy," he shrugged, "Any road, she's apparently bloody good at her work, which means that we don't have to worry that she's botched the autopsy"

A smile formed on the usually serious man's face, "She's also quite pretty. Good thing you look well rested, you might walk out of this meeting with more than an autopsy report," at that he winked at his boss and walked back to his desk whistling some tune from _Fiddler on the Roof_.

Joe quietly groaned, "not only is he my sergeant, but he's appointed himself as my matchmaker"

_M&S or M&C?_

The grin on Molly Hooper's face would not budge. Not when she had stubbed her toe on her coffee table this morning. Nor did it subside when she burnt her tongue on scalding coffee. Not even when her bum had been pinched on the tube platform by some yob - though to be fair her grin had grown when she'd slapped him across the face with her copy of _Jane Eyre_ and the guards had dealt with him.

No today was a great day and nothing would change that, because she had woken up in Sherlock's arms this morning!

Well, sort of.

She'd actually woken up to one of his arms around her, and her head on his chest – she thanked her grandmother for convincing her to get an L-shaped sectional. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up on the other end of the sectional, but however she did she was grateful to wake up to the sound of Sherlock's heartbeat and his scent engulfing her.

She'd stayed like that for about five minutes before covering him with her favorite throw and beginning her day.

'_He looks so precious when he sleeps"_, Molly mused as she went back to finishing up her report.

To be quite honest she had been having a lot of great days since Sherlock had become her unofficial roommate of sorts. She'd woken up with his arm around her more then a few times. He listened to her more too, and spoke with her not at her.

Yes, he could still be an arse, but he wouldn't be Sherlock if he wasn't.

A quiet knock on her office door caused her to look up

"Alright Molly," John Watson said from the doorway. Molly smiled at her best friend's husband, who wore his trademark sweater, though his tie and shirt collar were visible, "just off of work then John?"

Watson started at her comment, which caused Molly to chuckle and indicate his tie. "Sherlock's deductive skills are rubbing off on you"

Molly smiled and shrugged, before inviting John in to her office. Molly asked John how he was and asked after Mary, "She's been a bit ill," John answered, "just the flu I suppose. Probably caught it from one of her clients or their family"

"Oh no," Molly said sadly. She hated seeing anyone sick, especially those dear to her. She promised to make some soup for Mary and John soon which made John smile. Molly was a decent cook.

"So, my git of a best mate not here yet," John enquired as he glanced at his watch. Molly shook her head looking confused, "but it's just four. I was under the impression that he'd be here at six"

John shook his head as he hummed, "No, he sent me a text asking me to be here at this time. I figure he probably wants to go over some details of the crime or something"

He pulled out his phone to double check, "yep, said to be here at four and that he'd bring lunch"

"Another packet of crisps then," Molly smirked, which caused John to laugh.

An irritated snort was heard near the doorway.

Both doctors turned to see Sherlock glaring at them from the door.

"There you are Sherlock," John said as he stood to pat his friend's back in greeting as Molly gave a small wave

"I bring sustenance and here you are mocking me," the detective huffed as he put down two bags of food on Molly's desk, carefully sliding all the documents and her laptop on top of a row of file cabinets.

"Thank you Sherlock," Molly smiled as she squeezed his bicep, before scooting past him to unpack the food. The detective cleared his throat mumbling a quick, "it's quite alright" as John also thanked him.

The three soon sat around Molly's now cleared desk, about to share a meal from Speedy's together. John looks at the food, then at Sherlock, then at Molly and back at his food, "Sherlock, why'd you bring us an actual meal mate? I don't ever recall you bringing lunch before"

Shrugging, the taller man explained that he'd helped the eatery's owner discover that his supplier had not been providing the restaurant the free-range, antibiotic-free meats that the store owner paid for. The lunch was a thank you.

Sherlock pulled out three soft drink cans, one can of carbonated Ribena from his left pocket and two ginger beers from his right pocket. He slid the can of Ribena towards Molly.

"Ohh, I love Ribena," she said as she smiled at Sherlock. The tall man nodded and said, "Yes, I remembered that" which caused Molly to give him one of those smiles that made her look "sparkly" (2).

"So, how was last night's film," John asked as he was about to tuck in. Sherlock was about to respond when three sounds interrupted him.

The first was a click of an aluminum can's tab.

The second was the sound carbonated liquid whooshing out of said aluminum can.

The third was the sputtering cry of shock from the person opening the can.

Two sets of eyes fell on one person drenched in sticky reddish, purple liquid.

John was the first to react and he instantly got up and handed Molly a handful of napkins. "Jesus," mumbled the married doctor, "are you alright?". Molly nodded, "yes, luckily I closed my eyes just in time to avoid getting any liquid in my eyes, but now my lashes are all sticky"

John took Molly by the arm and led her towards the sink, noting how her baggy khaki trousers and grey wool jumper were stained by the soft drink. John commented on this and before adding, "trust me Ribena is nearly impossible to get off of jumpers," John said as he led the pathologist. "Oh no, my aunt Petunia got me this" Molly said frowning down at the frankly hideous wool top.

The two were so engrossed in their conversation that they missed the triumphant half smirk on Sherlock's visage.

* * *

AN: Once again, I do apologize for the delay.

Remember that "eyestrain"…well it looks to be optical nerve damage :(. I've still not had it treated as funds are limited – why can't Obamacare kick in sooner? Thank you to the people who have wished me well with my vision issues and offered prayers – I appreciate it so much. Special thanks to Daisherz365 aka Day who dedicated a chapter in her fics to me – it's one of the loveliest kindest things anyone has done for me. I LOVE this fandom! Check her fics out.

Anywho, about the fic – I'm sorry if there isn't so much blatant Sherlolly going on at the moment – but there will be in future! These chapters have all sort of been introductions – I wanted to explain where each character is in their lives at this point and give you an idea of what their lives have been like.

This chapter was the introduction to two Whitechapel characters. What do you think of Joe and Ray? I do hope you checkout Whitechapel, and if you have what do you think of Molly/Chandler? Oh and (1) there are some timeline/situation changes from the season 3 of whitechapel and my fic. First, the christening and reception in season 3 episode two never happened. Second, Joe never acted on his attraction to Morgan Lamb from episodes 5 and 6.

(2) Do you know where I got the "sparkly reference" from? Give a guess and I'll PM you a sneak peak of the next chapter.


	6. And You Look Beautiful Right Now

Just wanted to give a huge thank you to all those who reviewed, added this story to their alerts/favorites, and have read this story – it always makes my day to see those notifications.

Thank you to: no-MY name's Anonymous, shepweir always, Rocking the Red Head, Guest, Zora Arian, magicstrikes, susieqsis, LaserGirl77 , and daisherz365 for your messages and reviews.

I'm so glad to know that people enjoyed how sneaky Sherlock was with ruining Molly's clothing in the last chapter. Maybe his need to control things is a family trait?

Many thanks to the brilliant daisherz365 for looking at the beginning of this chapter and giving me the most helpful feedback and encouragement.

Disclaimer: Minds far greater than mine own and created Sherlock and BBC Sherlock. I just write this fic for fun.

* * *

There was a reason why Sherlock always accepted Molly's offer for coffee – because it was 10 times better than the coffee any establishments sold in the whole of London. Those thoughts were racing through his mind as he put down his cup of corporate coffee.

The consulting detective was currently killing some time, before returning to St Bart's. Molly had asked Sherlock to pick up a change of clothes from her flat as she needed to wash the soft drink out of her hair. John had volunteered to accompany him, but Sherlock had insisted that John stay in Molly's office in case anyone came in looking for her.

John had seemed a bit skeptical, but stayed there nonetheless. Besides, traffic would be a nightmare, and Sherlock would probably take some insane rooftop shortcuts to get there faster, and John wasn't sure he could produce that much adrenaline without being pursued by a criminal.

Luckily, Sherlock's trip didn't involve running on rooftops. It also didn't include sitting through traffic in a cab.

No, all the trip required was a walk over to Benny at the organ drop-off desk, where Holmes had left the bag of clothes earlier and a short walk to the coffee shop where he now was killing time.

_It feels good when my plans go off without a hitch_, the high functioning sociopath thought as he leaned back in his seat.

Just then a mobile went off.

"Spoke to soon," Sherlock grumbled as his phone rang from within his coat. The words "il Duce" flashed on the mobile's screen, when he pulled out the offending object. Instead of answering, the dark haired man smiled as he hit "ignore".

This went on for another minute or so before he received a text: I know you're ignoring my calls; stop being so juvenile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before switching his phone off all together.

The man sat still for a few minutes, before smirking and taking a sip of his awful cup of coffee.

"Holmes? Telephone call for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes," one of the barristas suddenly called out over the din of afternoon coffee consumers. Sherlock pulled up his coat collar and covered himself from view with a newspaper as the employee continued to call out Sherlock's name.

"Do you honestly think that'll work," Sherlock mumbled to himself.

A beat later every mobile in the shop went off.

The cacophony of noise from the cellular phones and their owners finally drove Sherlock to grab his belongings and rush out of the coffee shop doors, where a sleek black automobile waited for him. The slender man walked past the driver who held the door open for him and sat down hissing, "and you call me immature," before pouting and looking anywhere but at the person next to him.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "sometimes you have to fight fire with fire"

The two brothers sat in the moving vehicle ('_probably going around in circles_,' Sherlock thought) together in silence for a few minutes, before Sherlock finally broke the silence with a scoff.

"Aren't there governments you should be micromanaging instead of giving me a driving tour of London?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Well, I was just waiting for you to acknowledge my presence. What I need to tell you requires your full attention"

"I'm all ears," Sherlock said with an air of annoyance.

Mycroft silently extended his hand. The dark haired of the two looked at it quizzically, causing the other to sigh, "the bag Sherlock. Hand me the bag"

"No," Sherlock said as he pressed the bag against his chest and turned away.

"You're not a child, so cease behaving as one," Mycroft spat but quickly schooled his features, "did you know, that I'm good friends with DI Chandler's godfather?"

Sherlock slowly turned to look at his brother. The action encouraging the eldest Holmes brother to continue, "Yes, Edward and I studied at Eton. Edward has always had ambitious dreams for his godson so, naturally, he introduced Joe to me"

Sherlock raised a brow, "Oh? And your verdict?"

Mycroft quickly snatched the bag and peered insides at it's contents, "Doctor Hooper will look quite lovely in this ensemble. And DI Chandler will notice her in it. Your plan will, sadly, be a success"

The younger man snorted, "of course it will be a success," retrieved the bag, "but why do you say sadly?"

"Sherlock, have I not warned you about sentiment?"

"Yes, this is precisely why I'm doing this. If this plan works; if Joe and Molly form an attachment, I will finally be able to delete these emotions that have been… festering within me. I'll be rid of my feelings for Molly, and continue on with my work without distraction"

At this point the car slowed down. Mycroft frowned at his brother and shook his head, "it sounds like a good plan little brother, but it won't work. See, you can fight developing sentiment. But if you're not lucky and that seed is planted – well you'll never be able to rid yourself of it. It will stay with you forever until you act upon it," he nodded at Sherlock, "good luck Sherlock"

The dark haired man rolled his eyes, but nodded as he stepped out of the vehicle which soon sped off into the London traffic. The consulting detective turned and looked at his surroundings and cursed under his breath.

"For God's sake Mycroft; a half mile from St Barts?"

M&S? M&C?

"That took you a bit longer than I expected," John said after Sherlock had marched into Molly's office.

The taller man rolled his eyes, "the cabbie was absolute rubbish." He looked over at Molly and showed her the carrier bag. The pathologist had taken a quick shower in one of the locker rooms and now sat in a pair of scrubs (borrowed from the petite redheaded nurse in pediatrics judging by the size and kitten print).

"Thank you so much Sherlock. I'm sorry you had to go through all the trouble"

Sherlock looked down in (insincere) bashfulness, "well, it was my fault your clothes were ruined. If I hadn't been carrying that drink in my pocket…"

Molly quickly stood up and squeezed his arm in reassurance, "Oh no, it's not your fault. It was an honest mistake – to ere is human. And despite your protest, you are human"

Sherlock looked at the beaming woman. There it was again. She looked "sparkly" once more (1). He turned to look at John to see if he noticed, but John simply wore his usual pleasant (if not vacant) expression. Was he the only one who could see it?

'_Wouldn't be the first time_,' he thought, before he quickly handed the bag to her. Once again Molly thanked Sherlock before excusing herself. John looked at his watch and decided to visit Mary and quickly walked out of the room.

Sherlock looked around the room and saw that Molly had set his untouched meal on the desk. Sherlock shrugged, he technically wasn't on a case so maybe he could tuck in.

He was about a quarter of the way through when Molly timidly walked into the room, her arms crossed over her chest. The consulting detective quickly stood up, "Molly, you look…"

"Ridiculous," Molly said diffidently

Sherlock shook his head, "No. Not at all"

Molly looked up at the surprisingly soft voice. While Sherlock was kinder towards her, each moment of kindness always managed to surprise her. She looked into his beautiful eyes, and was surprised to see …wait, was that an affectionate gaze?

Molly's lips parted in confusion, so Sherlock continued, "Molly Hooper, you look beautiful"

Molly blushed and quickly waved her hand, as if to dismiss the comment, "You're being too kind. I mean, this isn't my usual style. I've only worn this skirt"

"twice," Sherlock interrupted, "7 months after I faked my – I went into hiding, you purchased that skirt for a pathology conference. You then wore it to tea for your grandmother's 70th birthday. I remember because you came back complaining about having spilt champagne on it and rushed it to the dry cleaners. When I found this item in your wardrobe it still had the ticket attached"

Upon stating this Sherlock pulled out said ticket, "Now what I'm wondering is why you never wear it"

The flabbergasted pathologist was surprised to find that Sherlock had ended up in front of her during his discourse, "Umm," She blushed and looked about attempting to avoid his stare, which was futile as that gaze was searching. Molly sighed in defeat and chose to be honest, "it's too nice for me"

Sherlock shook his head, "I beg your pardon"

Molly's shoulders slumped, "please don't make me say it again". At the look the dark haired man gave her she continued, "fine. I said it's too nice for me. This shirt is as well. I look like I'm trying to hard when I wear them. Just like I did at the Christmas-"

Molly abruptly stopped speaking and looked away. The pair had never spoken of that night's events; both far to embarrassed about it for different reasons. Sherlock frowned and lifted Molly's chin so that she could look at him, "Molly that night, I behaved abominably. I blame the chatter and Mrs. Hudson's potent mulled wine. You looked beautiful that night. And you look beautiful right now. These clothes are perfect for you"

As the man's voice trailed off, the pair looked at each other. Molly searched his face, seeking out any hint of insincerity and found none. Sherlock simply gazed at the woman who had always counted, trying to memorize how she looked at this moment to catalogue it in his mind palace.

'_Get a hold of yourself man! You're supposed to be deleting this rubbish, not adding to it_', he mentally chided himself. Luckily the sound of familiar footsteps caused the moment to be broken and the consulting detective quickly turned and walked back to his seat. He kicked his feet up as John, DI Lestrade and DS Ripner knocked on the door frame and entered, not having seen Molly yet.

"Gentlemen would you not agree that Doctor Hooper's legs look fantastic in that skirt"

All three men immediately turned to the now red faced Molly and took in her appearance. She covered her face with her hands, mentally berating herself for getting lost in the moment and forgetting who she was dealing with.

The three men still hadn't said anything, which caused Sherlock to scoff, "and they say I'm a bit not good! C'mon, tell Molly how wonderful she looks!"

John, who had snapped out of his surprise at both the statement and how nice Molly looked, glanced at his best friend to see if he was taking the Mick out of their timid friend. He was surprised that behind Sherlock's usual condescension there was honesty. Moved by the look John cleared his throat, "he's right Molly. You look stunning"

The comment caused the two detectives to break from their reverie and quickly agreed, describing her as lovely and smashing.

"Molly, you look very nice today. Have a date lined up?" Lestrade said, the look on his face mirroring the look he'd worn at the Christmas party all those years ago. The look caused Sherlock's brow to furrow.

Molly blushed as she shook her head and laughed, "No, I had a bit of an incident with a can of Ribena earlier. Sherlock was kind enough to swing by my flat and pick this up for me"

The graying DI looked at the tall man with a raised eyebrow, "so, not only are you the 'World's Only Consulting Detective, you're also a fashion consultant'

John snorted at the expression of annoyance on his best mate's face and added, "If the designer shoe fits"

Sherlock glared at Greg and John, "if you two are quite finished let's get on with the reason we're all here. Did you bring the crime scene photos?"

Justin nodded and handed Sherlock the manila file. Sherlock excitedly skimmed its contents, "excellent! I'm assuming DI Chandler is bringing copies of the photos from their crime scenes." Lestrade answered in the affirmative.

Holmes nodded, and informed them that they'd need to move to a larger space to lay out the photos.

"Oh, I figured you'd need the space – so I reserved the lab," Molly's comment earned her another look of admiration from Sherlock, "Great reasoning Molly. You all go to the lab, I'll be there shortly"

The group, used to his eccentricities, simply nodded and did as asked. Waiting a minute, Sherlock quickly finished his meal.

He'd reached his human moment quota for the day, thank you very much. Plus, he preferred not having an audience whilst enjoying a meal – especially when it was a sandwich that a shop had named after him; he could imagine Lestrade's comments.

Upon finishing his wrap, he chucked his rubbish in the bin and walked to the lab.

When he entered the lab, he found John and Greg chatting. The pathologist and detective sergeant were no where to be seen. He walked over to one of the counters and began to put down the photos, before casually asking about Molly's whereabouts.

"Said it was a bit chilly and went to get some coffee for us. Justin went to help her out"

Looking at his watch the taller man nodded, "and where is Detective Inspector Chandler?"

Just as Sherlock finished his question Lestrade's phone rang.

"Lestrade," the DI said as he answered the call, "Alright Joe. You're upstairs? Great. It's a bit tricky to navigate the way to the morgue, so I'll be right up to collect you"

Having hung up, he nodded at the group, "That was him"

"Obviously," Sherlock muttered. Greg ignored the comment and proceeded to absent himself for a bit, but not before reminding Sherlock to try and not be "a snarky git" when he returned.

When the detective inspector left, Sherlock carried on with organizing the crime scene photos while John looked about the room with a pensive look on his face.

"What," the dark haired man asked in irritation

John started a bit, "pardon?"

"You're thinking, rather loudly. It's annoying," the man continued to arrange the documents.

The doctor rolled his eyes at his former flatmate's comment, "I thought Greg asked you to try not to be a snarky git"

Sherlock corrected John, "He actually asked me not to be a snarky git when he returned. Lestrade isn't here yet. Now what mundane things are on your mind?"

The former army doctor chose to not react to the insult and shrugged

"Molly looked nice, don't you agree," John asked in a nonchalant voice

"Yes, which is precisely why I chose the outfit," was the irritated answer

"Why that outfit though? It's not what Molly usually wears"

Sherlock shrugged, "Most clothes Molly Hooper wears do nothing for her. They do not suit her body type. The garments I selected accentuate her figure"

"So, you've been checking Molly out?"

John had to hold back his laughter as Sherlock suddenly looked up wide eyed, and... was that a blush on his cheeks? Luckily Sherlock was saved from having to respond when Molly and Justin entered with several cups of coffee and tea. Sherlock twitched when his eyes scanned Molly. A frown forming between his brows,

"That sweater", he said the word sweater as if he were speaking of a particularly foul object, "That wasn't one of the items I brought you"

Molly's smile faltered, "Oh… no you didn't. It was in my office, I left it there on Friday"

The article of clothing was a blue knitted cardigan. It had two vintage pins on the left side, over her heart; a rugby pin and a cricket pin (2).

When she saw the frown line deepens between his brow she rambled, "Well, I was feeling a bit chilly…"

Molly trailed off as Sherlock scrutinizing her, she handed him his mug of coffee hopping it would deter any nasty deductions. As he was about to say something, she wasn't sure if it was going to be a criticism of her sweater or a thank you for the coffee, the door to the lab opened.

M&S? M&C?

When Joe Chandler scanned the room as he entered, he expected his attention to be caught by the famous Consulting Detective. Instead, his eyes focused on the petite brunette handing Sherlock a coffee mug. She suddenly turned upon hearing them enter.

'_She was quite pretty'_, he thought, until his eyes locked with the kindest pair of doe eyes he'd ever seen.

Her pupils dilated, as his heart rate increased.

Sherlock frowned at this exchange.

* * *

AN: Ta-dah! So there it is, the latest chapter of ATBH. How'd you like it?

There was a bit of Sherlolly there, eh? I hope Sherlock wasn't to OOC. Same goes for Mycroft. The scene at the coffee shop was really fun to think up. Guess being master manipulators is a Holmes family trait.

And what do you think about Joe and Molly's (albeit short) meet up? I promise there'll be more interaction between Joe and Molly, and Sherlock's reaction to said interaction in the next chapter (which I've already started). I'm going to try to get this up in about a week.

Other bits:

(1) So the sparkly reference is from the Season Two DVD extras. During the scene where Sherlock is x-raying the Woman's mobile in _**A Scandal in Belgravia**_ Benedict says about Louise Brealey/ Molly, "She's so sparkly, so pretty and he's being such an arse!" When I heard this I was like, 'awww, Jen, you need to write Sherlock recognizing how sparkly and pretty Molly is!" So I did :).

(2) You can see Molly's outfit (sans the pins, the significance of which will be brought up in chapter seven :D) at my tumblr page: sherlockismycuppa

P.S. I'm totally in search of a Beta. How does one go about this? Any recommendations? I really want to edit previous chapters and have a second set of eyes to consult on future chapters.


	7. Chapter 7: Preiew and Important AN

Chapter 7 and Preview

AN:

Dear Readers,

I'm so sorry to keep you waiting for an update. I feel horrible about keeping you in suspense, and many of you might have thought I'd abandoned this story and you – this update is to lay those fears to rest.

I am not abandoning this piece of fanfiction – I can't as it has become a part of me in a way I've never experienced before. During the quiet moments in my day, the characters and the plot play out in my mind waiting to be written.

The writing bit has been a bit difficult though. As some of you know, I'm undertaking a heavy course load and my vision has been a constant issue in my life these last few months. During the last few weeks especially, I thought I would never be able to read or write again.

But, thanks to the prayers of loved one and the miracle of modern medicine my vision is better now – I can read large print font now; and everyday it's improving.

So, what's the point of this authers note?

It's just my way of letting you know this fic is far from over and I've got huge plans for this fic!

First off, the lovely, talented Daisherz365 is my new Beta *thunderous applause*. She's actually gon through and edited all the previous chapters of this fic – so those will be going up soon (Warning – those that have this fic on their alerts may be bombarded with story alerts). A huge thanks to you my dear friend!

Second, the next few chapters are sorting themselves out in my mind and hopefully by the time I can look at my computer for more than five minutes without it hurting my eyes, I'll have the chapters up. To be honest, I don't know when that'll be – a week at shortest a few weeks at most. I just, don't want to hurt my eyes too much, so please be patient.

Third, I have a ton of future chapters written already; that is they're set like 15-20 chapters from where the fic is at present.

Fourth, new Sherlock crossover fics are on my mind. including the Whitechapel/Sherlock crossover fic I promised the ever fantastic Shepweir Always, who is a Molly/Joe fan. In addition to that, Molly's character just seems to be perfect for crossovers into other shows/novel few-shots. Hint: one character is from a popular British TV series and had a cat named Lucky Luciano; the other character is a cotton mill owner in the northern part of England.

Anyway, this is bloody long, innit? Sorry about that, but I just wanted to let you know I'm alive and so is this fic. Let's hope these eyes of mine get better soon, so the story can go on.

I'll leave you with this short teaser (forgive the mistakes, haven't sent it to my beta, but things will be in the future):

* * *

Joe gently pushed Molly's hair away from her neck to untie the knot; the action sending shivers to travel through both their bodies.

The knot was quiet stubborn, and his fingers fumbled a bit as the man was a bit nervous of their proximity. Finally, it came undone and Molly was able to remove the protective top. Molly thanked the DI, and swept her hair back, to cover the blush and rise of goose pimples his touch and immediacy caused. The action caused a sweet scent to tease the blonde man's senses.

"Blackcurrant", Joe murmured as he stepped away from Molly

"Pardon," Molly asked in confusion. The blonde man turned a bit pink. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But now that it was out there… he cleared his throat

"I caught a scent of your perfume as you let down your hair; blackcurrant, correct?"

Sherlock was about to say it wasn't perfume when John pushed him the rest of the way out the door. Molly and Joe looked towards the two friends in confusion before following their lead and walking towards the lab. The petite brunette blushed, "yes…it's a scent I'm testing out"

Joe looked down at his bespoke shoes, "well, it suits you." Molly turned to look at the handsome man, surprised at how shy and insecure he seemed; but flattered by the compliment. He quickly looked up and caught her eye as Molly smiled at him and mumbled a quick thank you.

* * *

There we are! When I update this fic next this preview will be replaced by the full chapter seven.


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